my latest business venture:
120 different ways to say "vagina"...approximately.

I've decided to categorize these so that the list doesn't seem so jumbled. A lot of them may seem a bit obscure. Those English keep quite an extensive slang dictionary.

-words that I think are socially acceptable in a conversation with your local Roman Catholic priest:
*twat
*cunt
*business

-words/phrases that are, in some sense, endearing:
*joxy
*jaxy
*plum (ah yes, a Shakespearian euphemism for that dirty part)
*tinkle bird
*vee dub
*wazoo
*yoni (Hindu, reference to latest translation of Kama Sutra)

-words/phrases that are somehow food-related:
*bearded clam
*bikini biscuit
*bread
*brownie
*bun (more specifically, for a hot dog)
*butter churn
*cabbage
*chalupa
*cherry pie
*chick pea
*chimichanga
*cookie jar
*corn crib
*crack (food for some, no?)
*crotch waffle
*crumpet
*dark meat
*flesh taco
*fur burger
*groceries
*gumbo pot
*hair pie
*honey pot
*jelly jar
*juice box
*meat curtains (whoever thought of this one should be brutally bludgeoned with a hambone)
*milk pail
*peach basket
*pickle pocket
*pink taco
*red snapper
*rhubarb
*sandwich
*sugar bowl
*tuna taco
*vagina diner
*vertical bacon sandwich
*white meat

-words/phrases that imply an act of violence:
*gash
*hatchet wound
*the one that bites
*scratch
*slit

-words/phrases about money:
*coin purse
*money box
*money maker

-words/phrases to describe the vagina for the filthiest of all filthy hoes:
*cum dumpster
*cum bucket
*dog's mouth
*fetus factory
*jizz jar
*municipal cockwash (my personal favorite, so please wait patiently for a revival)
*stench trench
*third armpit
*tongue magnet

-miscellaneous: the fantastical, the puzzling, & the lame:
*bearded lady
*box
*bunny hutch
*bush
*canal
*canasta
*cha cha
*chute
*cock holester
*conundrum
*cooch
*crease
*cuntzilla
*cuzzy
*dead end street
*dirty barrel
*fort bushy
*fra-ta-la-lee (courtesy of Italian grandmothers)
*ginch
*grand canyon
*growl
*house with pink shutters
*jade gate
*labes
*lower deck
*lumber mill
*man in a boat
*mouse trap
*mustache
*nautch
*netherlips
*panty hamster
*piss flaps
*poom poom
*pooter
*privates
*puffy pocket
*servant's quarters
*slippery slide
*slot
*snake pit
*snapping turtle
*snatch
*snippet
*squirrel's nest (not to be confused with the 'rat's nest' on your head)
*special place
*sperm sucker
*tool box
*trot
*twim
*vadge
*vertical smile
*vineyard
*wedge
*wick burner
*wonder down under


Well, someone had to do it. It's strikes me that the three-headed monster of Sex, Death (ref. to violence), and Food has leaked even so far into slang.
Shocking? yes. Disturbing? yes. I know.
Paging Dr. Freud...Dr. Kraft-Ebbing...Dr. Ruth...is anyone out there?

Two days later and I'm back on the 'puff the magic dragon' wagon.

But seriously, guys. This is one of the most tragic songs ever written. Consider:

Puff the Magic Dragon, lived by the sea.
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honoli.

Enter stage left: Puff. He is a dragon who lives by the sea. Most obviously. He also gets extra points for frolicking. Think about how difficult it would be for a dragon to walk in a circle, let alone frolic. This merrymaking of his also goes against the grain of a typical dragon. We know now that we are dealing with an outcast and chances are, he's sensitive. Based on such vulnerability that is expressed in the initial characterization of Puff, it seems fair to assume that this will be returned to later. Puff is already a character that is cruisin' for a bruisin'. But Honoli? Let's be safe and assume that this is somewhere near Hoboken.

Little Jackie Paper, loved that rascal Puff.
And brought him strings and ceiling wax, and other fancy
stuff.

Jackie Paper: a simple, noun-oriented, androgynous name. Perfect for a kid's brain. This is one of the main reasons why I love this sad, sad song. Like the way Mr. Rogers slipped into his tennis shoes at the beginning of every episode: children get simplicity. They're hooked on repetition. But I'm jumping ahead to the chorus too soon. Little Jackie Paper is to Puff the way an overexcited puppy wants to lick you all over your face right before he pees on your foot. But he's way generous and seems quite lonely himself. So I like him. Moving on...

*Chorus*
Together they would travel, on a boat with billowed sail.
Jackie kept a lookout perched on Puff’s gigantic tail.
Noble kings and princes, would bow when ere they came.
Pirate ships would lower their flag, when Puff roared out
his name.

What do you know, the two cronies are famous. Besides that though, this is the section of the song that is supposed to make you all goo-shee inside. A boy and his dragon, precious type-stuff.

Dragons live forever, but not so little boys.
Painted wings and giants' rings make way for other toys.
One gray night it happened; Jackie Paper came no more.
And Puff that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar.

This is what I'm talking about, the crux of misery. I'm willing to submit to the statement that dragons live forever. There are still unexplored parts of the globe, aren't there (please)? No, Jackie Paper doesn't die. Something much worse happens. LITTLE Jackie Paper dies. He grows up. He's becomes too old for dragons. As for all that string and sealing wax, Puff could be the greatest carpenter in all of Honoli and big-time, too-old-for-games Jackie Paper wouldn't even give him the time of day. As for the "other toys" that the song mentions, I'm not sure what they are but I'm quite positive that they are everything that is wrong with this planet.

His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain.
Puff no longer went to play along the Cherry Lane.
Without his life-long friend, Puff could not be brave.
So Puff that mighty dragon sadly slipped into his
cave.

About Puff being Jackie's lifelong friend, though: if dragons live forever, and Jackie Paper was a lifelong friend of Puff's, then wouldn't it be coincidentally boggling that the two had been friends since birth? I'm not challenging this piece of the lyrics. I'm just emphasizing how brutally heart wrenching it really is.
Into hiding he goes. FOREVER. Poor, poor Puff. Once worshipped by Jackie through string libations and now tossed aside like a rusted Canadian penny. And all because of that gaytarded phase called puberty.

some things just don't make much sense to me anymore.
1. this
2. and that.

i've got this new record. it's one of marlene dietrich's (the german actress). she does this strikingly beautiful version of "puff" from the fantastical kid's story of puff the magic dragon. i adore little jackie paper and his rascal puff. it's up there on my list of best pieces ever written for children that i still look to in my (almost?) adult stage for some stable footing whenever i feel a little wacky. along with other, more obvious ones like:
-the little prince
-the lion, the witch, and the wardrobe
-the poem of the jabberwock
but this slant on "puff" sends me off into the same pretend world that i think i used to live in. it's a fascinating place where walking across the street makes me a runaway-orphan and if i was ever lucky enough to fit into the sewer grate, i'd find a zoo of unicorns all waiting for me to take them for a ride. this world of marlene's is just a little more serious, a little more contemplative, a little more "where's the happy ending?" it might be the german vocals. it might be the traditional french instrumentals. whatever it is it makes me pace around my room, burning ovals into the carpet, tryng so very hard to remember how everything looked when i was kid.
welcome to my mid-half-life crisis. i visited my family recently, a strange group of people who i think are all wonderful. we rarely speak on the telephone though so i didn't catch these few bits of news until i actually witnessed them myself. my sister, who is 6 years younger than me, now has longer legs. my brother is getting married. in addition, i'm soon to have my own apartment. i like these adult things. but whenever someone mentions the ever-popular phrase of a twenty-something in crisis (often after my foolish advice), "i lost my imagination a long time ago" i get sad and mostly scared. like jackie paper and the little prince when they fear to lose something that they love.
a rose in a glass case.
a rascal dragon.
i have my fish. his name is circles. he has been dying for months now. upon his death, i'll most likely take a polaroid of him on a white piece of paper, fins splayed and body tiny. then grant him immortality in a children's story.
yes, he's real and he swims and is real. but we have conversations and i know he enjoys the symphonies of berlioz and i can tell when he's hungry and when he feels happier than a fly at a picnic. he's got a grip on my imagination like the jaws of life, that fish.
back to those things that don't make sense anymore: i don't know what they are. chalk it up to the half-mid-life crisis which i am sure is something that a corvette will not cure.

for now, marlene dietrich is singing "hush little baby."

enough of this being too old to pretend crazy talk.